1979, Las Vegas. A compound fracture, a leg twisted behind her head, and the smell of human waste in a garden apartment. Francine W. describes the wreckage of a life spent trying to "zip herself out of her skin." From the streets of New York to the high-stakes delusions of Vegas, she lived as a "garbage can," using any chemical to dull the pain of being poor and different. She recalls the "dirt" that no soap could scrub off—the guilt of lying down with scum.
Recovery wasn't a sudden shift but a gritty overhaul of her identity. She speaks of the "Merry-Go-Round of Denial" and the hard truth from her sponsor: self-esteem comes from "esteemable acts." She traded the furs and diamonds of the Upper East Side for the dignity of the 12 Steps, learning to stop sleeping with other people's husbands and cursing for a laugh. Now, she carries the scar on her leg as a reminder of the price of her Higher Power.
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